The Queen's Assassin (The Queen's Secret #1)(96)

“I wish I could,” he mumbles into the pillow.

“I can order you to return.” The truth is, I am his sovereign; I could make him do as I wish. A thought occurs to me.

He turns over so that I rest my head on his bare chest. This is how we slept in the cave, in the inn; this is where I am meant to be all my life. I cannot bear to let him go. I cannot bear for him to leave me. He must come back to me. This cannot be the end of us.

“Please,” I say.

“What are you saying?” he asks.

What am I saying?

The queen may have her plans, but I can make my own. I think of the story we spun not too long ago, the one about Cal and his Renovian fiancée. I can see him now, speaking the words to me like a vow . . . To be unmarried to each other, but together, forever. I think I can keep that promise.

“You could not be my husband, but you wouldn’t have to be,” I say. “There is a room off Hansen’s bedchamber, for his favorite.” For his mistress. I have seen her at court these past few days, a beautiful girl who gazes at me with barely concealed contempt.

Thankfully, my future husband has many distractions.

“But there is a room off mine as well,” I tell Cal. “No one would know. You could return to me, there. When you come to Montrice, when you come back to see me.”

He doesn’t respond, but I am seized by the idea and cannot hide the hope and joy in my voice. “You can come back, to be by my side, in between your journeys. Come back to me—come back to Montrice. We can steal time together, you and I. We will find a way. You will not be my husband, but I will be yours forever.”

Cal shakes his head. He gets up from the bed, pulling on a pair of pants that were strewn on the floor. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, trying to pretend I’m not. He looks out the window at the encroaching light. “You should go.”

He’s not wrong. My new ladies-in-waiting will show up soon to dress me for the day, and they would be quick to report my absence. “Where will you go?” I ask him. My hands fist the sheets, rumpling them.

He doesn’t answer.

“I ask too much,” I say. Of course he will not return to me. I am to marry another, and being the queen’s consort is beneath him. He would be under constant threat of discovery, and with little more status than one of my servants. Once he has fulfilled his vow, he has a barony in his future, land, riches, freedom to marry, to have children of his own.

“You ask so little,” he says. “But that is not the reason.” He takes my hand and presses it to his lips.

Outside, mourning doves coo. Roosters crow. The sun peeks out from beyond the mountains.

“You will not return, then,” I say as I leave the bed. My heart is shattering, but I will not cry. I will be brave for him.

Cal keeps his back turned, which I find endearing—he’s shy about looking at me while I put my nightclothes back on too.

“Will I see you again before you go?” I ask when I am dressed.

“I don’t know.” He is standing by the window, his back to me, shirtless, his hands shoved in his pockets. I try to etch the picture of him that way into my mind so I’ll have the memory always. My handsome, dangerous assassin.

He turns around and it seems as though he’s about to come toward me, but he hesitates, so I go to him and throw my arms around his neck. He folds his arms around me and squeezes tight. I pull my head back and look at him, our faces nearly touching. He runs his hands up my back and then grabs on to my hair and kisses me again, long and hard and possessive. Soon we will need to return to bed.

But he draws back suddenly. I feel the wrenching as if he’d taken a piece of my soul. “Goodbye, Lilac.” It is the first time he has called me by my real name. He smiles, but his eyes do not.

The sounds of morning are more insistent now. I have but a short while before the ladies come knocking.

I will not run away with him and he will not return to me.

Love is not enough.

I walk to the door and place my hand on the knob. Before opening it to leave, I look at Cal one more time. I want to tell him how much I love him, but I can see that he already knows.

I walk out and shut the door behind me.





CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Caledon

WHEN THE DOOR CLOSES, CAL feels a profound emptiness. Grief overtakes him, the same as when his father died. He is entirely alone in the world. Again. His heart feels like lead, weighing him down so that he can’t even bring himself to get up from the windowsill to watch her go down the steps.

He does not intend to be in Montrice when she and Hansen exchange vows. The mere thought of it makes him ill. He will leave by sunset.

Then he sees something he hadn’t noticed before. There’s a light purple handkerchief on the pillow. He picks it up. It is made of the purest silk, embroidered with a monogram: HRH, LD. Her Royal Highness, Lilac Dellafiore.

Just like the one she gave him in Serrone, it smells of perfume as well. Only this time, he recognizes the scent of freshly pressed lilac.





CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Caledon

OUTSIDE, CAL SEES THE WEDDING party preparations going up—green and purple cloth banners and huge canopies, upholstered chairs being carried in by a parade of workers, silver torches being installed to line the property for the evening reception.